


The Queen's Gift

by Odin16immortal



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, f/f - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:00:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odin16immortal/pseuds/Odin16immortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annalise is a fallen queen. King Sam Keating has found out about her affair with the sorcerer Nate Lahey and is determined to humiliate her before executing her. Luckily, a wandering mercenary, Bonnie Winterbottom happens upon Annalise and falls madly in love. Annalise vows to survive this ordeal using all available resources. Bonnie longs to find a person she can serve as a true knight not a mere mercenary. Can the two face the world and come together as one? Or will they ultimately be defeated by the power of a sadistic king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. Respectful comments and kudos are welcome!

Annalise has never liked The Capital. The center city-state of Guthram is as ugly as the name suggests. The place is nothing but brick, stone and a nauseating greyness that overtakes you at every corner. ‘Gothic’ the Guthram nobles like to say, although atrocious would be more accurate. Annalise thought she could work with it for Sam’s sake. Now, she realizes all of Sam’s vices are evident in his people as well. King Sam’s blandness exhibited in every spice less dish. His arrogance in full display in the fact Guthram literally called its major city ‘The Capital’ as if it is the only city-state that matters. Finally, King Sam’s cruelty is strikingly apparent in her current situation.   
The cobblestone makes it hard to walk barefoot. Annalise barely has enough time to balance herself as one of the knights yanks on the ropes coiled around her wrists. This action causes Annalise to lose her footing as she collapses on her knees. The light, white underdress she had been allowed to wear does nothing to buffer the pain of bare knees hitting stones. It takes everything Annalise has to not cry out in pain. The crowd of peasants have gathered around eager to see another humiliation cast upon her. They jeer, calls of ‘whore!’ and ‘prostitute!’ echoing all around the former queen. The nerve of these people! Did they honestly think King Sam gave a damn about any of them? How many times had she argued for the rights of the poor, demanded that orphanages be built, that crimes like stealing bread did not lead to death? Yet, look where she is now, bleeding on the ground while these overgrown man-children that call themselves knights look down upon her. The crowd loves these so-called warriors actions; the poor people crow at each new humiliation and cruelty visited upon Annalise’s body. These peasants thirst for the right to belittle anyone even half as much as they are on a daily basis. One boy, Sir Griffin O’Reilly, seems to especially enjoy his newfound infamy. He attempts to yank her rope and drag the queen further down the road. The other buffoons laugh and kick at her to urge their comrade’s cruelty. Annalise grits her teeth as she struggles to stand gracefully, despite the shooting pain in her knees. The scold’s bridal locks tightly and uncomfortably around her mouth, pinching at her nose, and clinching into the back of her skull. Still, Annalise wills herself to walk. She imagines that she is stepping on the bones of her enemies. She burns each face of her torturers into her memory; their names come back to her. Each name is muffled as the former queen recites them like a mantra. Sam will regret this, she thinks as a little peasant boy throws a rock at her. The stone ricochets off the bridle causing a headache and pain to ripple through the rest of her body making Annalise stumble. Oh yes! She will make this whole kingdom regret every moment it made her suffer this degradation.

Bonnie huffs in annoyance. All the streets in The Capital are completely overrun with fools entertained by the vilest of occasions. All Bonnie wants to do is cash her reward and go. She hefts the brown burlap bag over her shoulder taking pride in its weight. The crowd swells, as it appears the main event is arriving. Bonnie doesn’t want to know what poor urchin has been caught for some trifle or the fate that will inevitably befall the poor bastard. To her surprise, the onlookers are jeering ‘Whore Queen!’ Bonnie stills. The capital is an enigma to her as she is from the cold drifts of the Far East. In the East punishment is not a spectacle, it simply is. These capitol folks act as if criminal punishments are the only bright spots and their miserable existences. Bonnie determines that she should really just ignore the lot of them. The rapid crowd begins chanting ‘Strip, her! Strip the Whore Queen!’ Bonnie frowns, her thin lips press into even sharper lines. This is going above and beyond punishment into something viscous and ugly. Bonnie pushes her way through the swarm shoving dirty, smelly men and women out of the way with sharp elbows. Somehow, Bonnie makes it to the front of the crown.   
By the six gods! Bonnie looks at the prisoner. A spark runs from the center of her chest to the tips of her fingers. Bonnie has never seen a more divine, ethereal lady! A woman with skin the color of the night sky and hair like the cottony candy that Bonnie used to enjoy as a girl, struggles against a brute. The metal bridle clenching around the woman’s head is muffling her protests. The man’s mailed glove reaches for the flimsy, soiled white dress. With a loud laugh, the brown haired knight rips the dress exposing one of the woman’s breasts. Bonnie doesn’t think and simply moves. The blade she holds is thin and light perfect for quick swift movements. The blade’s metal tip is at Sir O’Reilly’s throat before he can attempt to abuse the former queen more. The man pauses as he feels cold steel bite deep into the skin of his throat. The blonde’s brown eyes are vicious the intent to kill clear on her face.  
“I suggest you get your hands off your blades gentlemen, or I can slit your friend’s carotid artery. That will be quite bloody, trust me.” Bonnie states with ease. She places herself between the queen and these barbarians.   
“You stupid, bitch!” One of the knights shrieks as he whips out his long sword. Aggressive, stupid and full of bravado; these types of boys Bonnie can defeat before she breaks her fast. She moves quickly striking at the knight’s ever widening pupils. A high pitch squeal radiates through the crowd as the man falls to his knees in agony. The broad sword falls with a clang on cobblestone. Everything is silent. Bonnie can hear the sound of her own breath as the other warriors surround her. She presses the fallen queen to her back. The woman’s warmth at Bonnie’s back strengthens her. These men will die before Bonnie lets them lay another hand on the beauty behind her.   
“What is the commotion? I can’t even move this carriage.” A shrill voice punctuates into the silence. All of the knights glance at the source of the sound, but Bonnie stays focused; her fighting stance does not relax for even an instant. A man leaps out of the most splendid carriage Bonnie’s ever seen looking irate. His hair is slicked back with grease that shines in the midday sun. The Viscount Max St. Vincent, rumor has it that he is a weasel of a man with a penchant for taking up new wives shortly after the one before died of ‘natural causes’. A woman steps down out of the other carriage door. Her hair is a straight black waterfall, despite her Guthram clothes Bonnie can tell the woman is from the southern part of the Eastern city-state of Yherginia( where Bonnie is from) or the island off its coast. If Bonnie has to guess its this woman that may help the situation end without bloodshed. She at least wasn’t one of these barbarians.  
“Good Lady and Gentleman! I must say I am but a naïve Yherginian mercenary, however even I despise vile treatment of a lone woman by brutes.” Bonnie announces more to the wealthy woman than to the crowd.  
“A woman mercenary, eh? How droll!” Max St. Vincent quips. His light watery eyes seem to be laughing at the whole situation. His female compatriot , however, finds nothing amusing. Her dark black eyes cut through each in every person at the scene taking in everything. When she and the former queen make eye contact something changes. The woman shivers, a normal person wouldn’t have noticed, but a trained killer like Bonnie notices immediately. What could have unnerved a well-protected wealthy woman? She glances behind her to see the queen huddled and cowed at Bonnie’s back. Had the swordswoman, checked sooner she would have seen an Annalise that is neither scared nor beaten but a closer to a wounded panther: fearsome and vengeful.  
“I am High Judge Morrow and under the authority of the law I proclaim that the men escorting Annalise Keating are unfit! From this point forward she will be escorted to the dungeons by my men!” Judge Morrow announces. The Viscount seems put out by this new development but holds his tongue. The rest of the buffoons Bonnie almost killed seem stupefied as one of the carriage entourage spurs his horse towards where Bonnie and Annalise stand.   
Bonnie wrenches her warm black cloak off her shoulders and places it upon the delicate shoulders of the damsel in distress. Annalise’s brown eyes pierce straight through Bonnie, the blonde feels like her soul is laid bare. As the former queen is led away from the female mercenary, Annalise glances back. She knows that is what the female swordswoman wants; a touch of genuine longing, the desire for gratitude and adoration. Indeed, a plan is forming one that will rock the very core of the kingdom.


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annalise is not a woman to be easily conquered. A new alliance forms and a plan to take down a king is hatched.

Annalise catches the sigh of relief in her throat as one of the prison guards wrenches off the Scold’s Bridle. It had taken hours to saw through the torture device, the whole time Annalise was seething. Still, rage she finds can be a great inspiration. That swordswoman, the blonde, if only she had given her name. Annalise gulps down stale, disgusting air like it is manna from the twelve heavens. The damp hay on the floor does little to insulate from the cold. Annalise tries not to imagine what has been done on the stuff as she curls up on the crunchy, yellow straw. A rat scuttles past her and she shivers. Tears flow freely down her cheek as she remembers Sam. His face gnarled with anger his words vicious. Any aspect of the kind, understanding man she thought she had married. The nice Sam who had a shy smile and impressionable demeanor; she thought he needed her. It hadn’t been hard to convince him his first wife did not love him. The woman had a difficult time making friends; she was starved for affection despite the lack of emotions her face unwittingly projected. It wasn’t hard for Annalise to whittle her way into Sam’s ex- wife’s heart find out all her secrets and use them against her. It had all been for the best, a woman like that could not aid in ruling a kingdom. In less than two years, Annalise sat beside King Sam on the throne of Guthram, his ex sent across the narrow sea back home. Still, there had been one thing she never calculated. Instinctively, her arm crosses over the base of her stomach. She had gotten desperate started to seek out unorthodox methods to fix the problem. She sought him ought and fell in love his charm. The Conjurer made promises of future joy. She should have never believed him. She should have never allowed herself to need anyone the way she needed that man. Never again, never ever again!  
The dungeons large oak door creaks open. In steps a young woman dressed in peasant’s garb balancing a plate of unappetizing slop. Annalise wrinkles her nose in disgust as the dish is placed at her feet even the rats skitter from the ‘food’.   
“Dinner time, your Majesty!” The girl drawls out with a smirk. Annalise eyes the little urchin coolly.   
“I am not a Queen anymore, girl.” Annalise hisses. She sits up posture perfect and prim. This little fool will not have the satisfaction of seeing her broken.   
“Aye! I liked it better when you were. You are far better than the alternative. We aint got none of those fancy eating utensil you rich people get up in the palace. You just got to make do with your hands.” The girl says blowing a loose dark lock from her face.  
Annalise gingerly extended a long dark finger to the slop on the plate. She licks the glop and immediately regrets it. It takes everything Annalise has to not throw up. The peasant girl chuckles at Annalise’s extreme discomfort.  
“What do you mean by ‘the alternative’?” Annalise asks unwilling to acknowledge her weakness. The girl smirks.  
“Look, I think we can help each other.” The girl says. Annalise raises an eyebrow.  
“Talk,” Annalise orders. She is beginning to feel a little bit like a queen again.   
The girl glances back at the door and moves closer settling herself on the makeshift straw mattress.   
“I think there may be a way that we both get what we want.” The brunette whispers. Annalise narrows her eyes listening intently to the young woman’s grievances.  
This girl must have bribed the guards because they speak for quite some time. By the end of it, Annalise can see a path she can take. Although, most of it she is keeping secret from her new accomplice, Rebecca.  
Rebecca jumps at the loud knocks on the door. Their time is up.  
“Look at me, Rebecca! Trust me! Find Wes Gibbons, tell him exactly what I told you!” Annalise promises gripping the girl’s hand tightly. Rebecca nods before rushing out the cell to the outside world. Annalise gets up and begins to pace allowing ideas to flow through her. Then, she spots something sticking out a crack in the stone bricks. Annalise squats to inspect the plant growing inconspicuously in the filth and grime.  
“Thank the ancestors!” Annalise cries. Revenge will be sweet indeed.


	3. A Bar and A Mission

Wes doesn’t like pubs. They are too stuffy and noisy. He tries not to guess how often the cup he is sipping from is actually washed. Another gulp of the stale ale and the worry in Wes’s gut grows a little bigger. Annalise is locked away in one of the toughest dungeons of Guthram. She had done wrong, Wes recognizes this fact, but he knows Annalise only does evil things if necessary. She would never have an affair with another man unless there a good reason for it. Where is Rebecca, the sun is already setting. His absence at the palace will be noted soon. A strong hand grips his right shoulder, sharp nails dig into his doublet. Despite, the sudden uncomfortable awareness of being taken by surprise, Wes knows the touch. Rebecca is wearing her typical serving outfit: a simple grey dress and a white apron. A brown cloak covers her long, skinny shoulders. Most men would find her homely, but Wes thinks she is the second most extraordinary woman he knows. The first, of course, is Annalise.  
“You should be more aware. I could’ve easily put a knife in your back.” Rebecca teases a hint of seriousness tints her words. Wes smiles with ease lifting his ale he mutters, “I’ve been drinking.”  
Rebecca laughs and pulls out the chair next to him. The loud boisterous noise of the surroundings does nothing to lighten her caution. Wes stands out too much from his skin tone to the fact even plain palace clothes are better than half of the rags of the tavern dwellers. Rebecca almost tells Wes this; however, Wes’s lips lock onto hers and she forgets most everything else.   
“Wes, stop. I talked to Annalise.” Rebecca mutters as Wes kisses her neck. He pulls back, instantly, his face serious. Rebecca tries not to be jealous of the reaction knowing that Annalise and Wes have a special bond. It is not easy to accept because she shares him enough already, but Rebecca has come to understand that love is an odd, multifaceted thing.   
“She told me to ask you to find a blonde, female Yherginian mercenary. Annalise said she wants her.” Rebecca reports. She can see the blueprints of Annalise’s plan but not the final idea. Wes simply nods as if this task is not impossible. There are plenty of Northern Yherginians in Guthram, how is he supposed to find a lone woman?  
“I’m guessing she wants me to find this ‘mercenary’ before the trial in three weeks.” Wes states glibly before sipping a bit more of the ale. He glances at her through long eyelashes. “Did you tell her?”

Rebecca sighs inwardly. “There was no need to tell her Nick Lahey is dead. The Conjurer put up a fight but to no avail.” She shivers. It took hours to wash the gore off the dungeon floors. Nick had fought strongly. Nick had fought vallantly and Nick died. Why would Annalise be any different?  
“She is our only option.” Wes emphasizes squeezing Rebecca’s hand. “She will help us once we get her out of prison.” Rebecca nods. In the back of her mind she wonders if Wes rather squeeze Annalise’s hand than hers. She knows she has no right to be jealous considering Wes accepted her polyamorous nature fully.   
Wes kisses Rebecca goodnight softly on the cheek.  
“Lila won’t marry him, I swear it.” Wes promises.   
No, that greedy King will not take Lila from them. Rebecca would kill him first. 

Bonnie counts each gold coin carefully. Inspecting the currency in the filtered moon light. Frank merely watches in silence. Some people would be annoyed by such a display of suspicion. Frank knows this is just how Bonnie does things. The woman is meticlous to a fault but she does good work. The sack full of the four heads of some of the vilest men across the continent is testament to Bonnie’s sword prowess.   
“I heard abut what you did for Annalise. That was good of ya.” Frank comments.   
Bonnie glances at the man. His eyes are deep set in his face but they blaze deep. This man may have given up on murdering in exchange for collecting but the killer spark is still there.   
“It was the right thing to do. A beauty like that should not be marred.” Bonnie mutters. All of this a travesty such a beautiful woman should not be locked up in a dungeon only to be dragged out to execution. Alas, Bonnie is a mercenary not a knight, rescuing damsels in distress is not in her job description.  
“Do you wanna help me with another job. It’ll be like old times.” Frank suggests. His lips quirk up in a smirk marking the trace of mercenary left in him. Bonnie is a lone wolf now but she once worked with Frank. They traveled across the continent from battlefields to worn out inns. Somewhere along the way, Frank decided to play middleman. Bonnie can’t let go of her sword. Fighting is the only purpose she has.  
“What do I get out of helping you? We aren’t partners anymore, Frank.” Bonnie replies. Frank just laughs.   
“Three things you can’t resist Bonbon: an exciting night out, riches and the chance to get some information on a hot girl. What do you say?” Frank declares. He knows he has her as Bonnie shifts from one foot to another.   
Bonnie glares at him before assenting. So far the trip to Guthram is eventful.


	4. The Murder

The forest at night is too still. There are no animals to be heard just a wall of dark trees. Bonnie had been led to believe this mission is a duet of sorts. Instead, she meets her fellow criminal associates at the edge of the black trees. There is a young woman, pale and beautiful with black hair pinned up in a bun. She wears a strange outfit a jacket covered in ancient symbols. The jacket’s many pockets carry odd vials. She is adorned in a multitude of belts each having even more vials and powder bags. The pack on her back emits a strange, deadly pleasant smell. This one is an alchemist. The woman’s blue eyes are oddly warm but the darkness there keeps Bonnie on edge. She longs for Frank to return from whatever errand he is on.   
“My name is Laurel Castillo. It is nice to meet you, the infamous Bastard of Winterbottom.” Laurel greets, her voice contains a lilt of an accent. She holds out a fingerless gloved hand. The title irks Bonnie. She tries to keep a low profile but it seems her name gets around some circles anyway.   
“Laurel! It is rude to call someone a bastard to the face! You’ve been in Guthram too long you are loosing that Slencese politeness.” A tall man with russet, reddish brown skin chastises. The man wears a strange outfit, a dome shaped helemet rests upon his head and his clothing is soft and flowing; masking the chain mail hidden underneath. The pata blade attached to his right arm and the great sword on his back marks him as strong despite his thin frame. This man, like Annalise, is most likely from the Western border city -state of Tchillian. A strange place where most of the populace came from other continents yet overtime they have come to speak the same language as the rest of the continent. Still, Tchillian keeps a fierce connection to its ancestral heritages, the trading Guilds there are extremely powerful. A crafty and opportunistic people that make good allies and horrible enemies, Bonnie will see how well they work together.  
“What the fuck is Khan doing here, Laurel?” Frank snarls. The man appears seemingly out of nowhere. Frank has removed his simple peasant clothes replacing it with a sleek black outfit. The costume is familiar harkening back to the days when they hunted men side by side. The bow and arrows in his right hand were once deadly, today Bonnie will see if he has lost his edge.   
“Don’t start with me, Frank! I don’t question your lovers.” Laurel hisses. Her eyes glint dangerously. Bonnie rolls her eyes. This is why she generally works alone. The argument continues as the rag tag group enters the dense forest.  
“I let you fuck my side pieces! I communicate with you, would it kill you to do the same.” Frank growls. Khan lets out a laugh.  
“If you want to fuck me all you have to do is ask, man.” Khan states with ease as his eyes connect with Laurel’s. Bonnie wonders how easy it would be to stab through all their chests at once. Frank looks at Khan before smirking slightly. He reaches over to the younger man pulling him roughly into a kiss.   
Bonnie hears chanting coming closer and closer. The sound is low but carries a long the gnarled trees and endless dark earth. A group, rather large, parades through the forest. The procession is full of men and women dressed in white sheets and silver masks that glisten in the torchlight. Most of them appear barefoot carrying large staffs for the women and battle axes for the men. Four of the men are bare chested with strange designs carved into their flesh. They balance a palanquin atop there shoulders.   
“We’ll finish this later. Right now we got some booty to steal.” Frank says squeezing Khan’s ass while winking at Laurel. Laurel nods, she pulls out a vial full of an electric blue liquid. Popping the cap off she downs the stuff in one gulp. Her eyes roll back so all that is visible is white. A gush of wind propels her upwards, Laurel floats higher and higher as if an invisible hand is lifting her to the heavens.   
“By the gods!” Bonnie exclaims. The blonde has never seen such high level alchemy. Where the hell does Frank get these people?  
“Attractive, isn’t she? Wait for the signal.” Khan mutters to Bonnie. Bonnie frowns. Signals were never discussed. Flames rain down from above burning everything it touches including human flesh only Frank, Khan and Bonnie remain unaffected. Laurel’s spell pelts hellfire only upon her enemies. The procession collapses into a panic as men and women run screaming and flailing. This must be the signal.   
“Aim for the palanquin!” Frank shouts over the roar of death. Quickly he breaks into a run shooting arrows with impeccable accuracy as he goes. Realizing they are under attack a few of their prey go the offensive. Huge men with battle axes lunge towards them at alarming speed. Some fall to Frank’s precision arrows but many block them with their own weapons. Bonnie is not afraid of their size, a bigger body means a wider target.   
The man’s axe swipes downward and Bonnie barely dodges, despite the adrenaline Bonnie is all focus, run as she speedily stabs the man’s open fleshy sides going straight through his rib cage. Bonnie isn’t like Frank a murder with barely any conscious. Khan appears to enjoy the killing often letting out a whooping laugh as he gracefully spins his two –sword dance of death. Laurel seems to like to keep out of the fray and attack only at the beginning before leaving it to the others, a sneaky and effective. Bonnie, however, fights like she is trying to find a purpose in each thrust of her blade.   
All the opponents have fallen. Khan wrenches a woman out of the long since fallen palanquin keeping her from running. This brunette is masked like all the others but her mask is far more intricate, embroidered with diamonds and pearls. Her legs are crushed underneath the wooden beams that once held her up.   
“Tell us where the gold is?” Frank shouts at her. Khan grabs the woman by her brown tresses repeating the demand. A soft laugh reverberates from underneath the mask.  
“Gold? I know that’s not what you are here for. She sent you didn’t she. That Bitch!” The brunette shrieks out in a reedy voice. With a jolt her ruby red lips open up and she lets out an ear-piercing cry. Bonnie feels like the sound is racking her brain around in its fluids. She quickly covers her ears in an attempt to block out the noise. Only, Khan has any strength, perhaps due to the helemet, drives his sword through the thick tendons of the screamer’s neck lopping it off. The den ceases and Bonnie gulps down cool night air. The rest of the night is merely collecting valuables off their victims. Bonnie feels disconcertingly like a vulture. A conscious is an easy thing to get rid of when your pockets are weighed down with riches. Still, there are many nagging questions in the back of the blonde’s mind. Who were there victims? Who is the woman that ‘sent them’? Bonnie glances at Frank who is laughing and flirting with Khan and Laurel. Behind his smile there is a poison but to whom does Frank’s malevolence belong.


	5. King Sam

Sun light barely comes through the tiny dungeon window. Annalise sleeps with her legs curled up close to her chest. The dungeon is so cold despite the fact it is spring outside. Annalise glances up at the sound of resounding footsteps. Quickly, she wipes tears from her face. The heavy door to her cell flings open. Annalise rearranges herself standing at her full height. She still strikes a regal figure as the bit of sunlight casts a long shadow on the stone floor. King Sam Keating stomps in pausing slightly to look at his former wife. To his dismay, she appears to be unbowed.   
“Are you here to ask me how to rule this useless kingdom of yours? Do you finally realize how incompetent you are, Sam?” Annalise sneers. She tilts her head to the side and stares right at her tormentor and former husband. She knows exactly what to say to prop him up and to tear him down. A fact the King finds distasteful and enraging.   
“My title is Your Majesty, whore! I know you killed my sister.” Sam hisses. He stomps towards her. Spittle shines on his lips and the sadistic glint in his eyes would be enough to make a grown man tremble. Annalise holds her ground, refusing to lower her gaze.  
“Come now, I killed your sister! I have been trapped in this dungeon all night or do you think I’m capable of slipping through walls.” Annalise snipes. Inwardly, she is pleased. The truth is she hadn’t given any orders but the murder of Sam’s sister is exceedingly helpful. Frank acted according to his expectations of her desires. Between the siblings Hannah Keating is a far better candidate for rule. The woman had more intelligence and far better morals than her brother. If not for Guthram’s draconian gender laws, Hannah’s ambition would have taken her far. Still, the Princess Royal was one of Sam’s primary advisors. Her death is equivalent to sawing off the King’s political legs. Indeed, Annalise can feel the nervousness oozing off the man as Sam paces.   
“I know it was you! I know! I know! I know!” Sam shrieks at her. He flies into a rage kicking hay and the chamber pot. Fast as a cat his hand strikes out wrapping around Annalise’s neck pushing her into the walls.  
“I’ll kill you! I will put your head on a spike you traitorous slut.” Sam hisses. The wine on his breath hits Annalise’s nostrils hard.  
“Kill me, if you dare. You look down on me for being the daughter of Tchillian merchant and his fourth wife. My father’s guild may be young but it is famous and powerful. The death of his child will not go unnoticed. Your ports will dry up, prices will rise, and food will become scarce. Tell me do you think your fickle supporters will stay loyal when a riot is at your door?” Annalise says even as the hand tightens its grip on her throat. Sam’s eyes widen slightly. His arrogance did not outweigh his intelligence. Guthram is an inland city-state with poor soil thus practically no agriculture; although, it has a strong base in both textiles and mining. The city-state is highly dependent on Tchillian trade. That was the primary reason their unorthodox marriage was allowed.   
“Fine. I will have your head legally under the law for an adultery against the royal bloodline and the murder of a royal.” Sam replies. He whirls around far more secure in appearance than before. The purple cloak flaps merrily as the King storms from the cell. Annalise continues to stand tall until she hears the footsteps recede into silence.   
Slowly, she slips down the cold hard stone. The rough surfaces scratches into her back momentarily distracting from the tightening, constricting pain in her chest. Sam was the first to ever truly care about the trauma Annalise endured by her uncle’s hands. For that reason, she forgave him for the numerous mistresses and routine displays of paranoid aggression. Orginally, she had gone to Lahey for his supposed ability to create life inside barren wombs(among other spells). Nick knew ancient magic from the Old Continent, the stuff Analise’s mother would only whisper under bated breath. She never meant to fall for him but Nick had not just seen her as a queen. He saw her as a woman. Sam would never forgive her even if she escaped: he must be dealt with entirely.


End file.
